Watching Mr Masen by sexysiren1981
by ControlPossessSeduceContest
Summary: There's a point when lust turns to obsession, when the lines between love and possession are blurred. I don't know where I stand anymore, but I'd do anything for Edward Masen. Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest


**Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest**

 **Title:** Watching Mr. Masen

 **Rating:** M

 **Summary:** There's a point when lust turns to obsession, when the lines between love and possession are blurred. I don't know where I stand anymore, but I'd do anything for Edward Masen.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

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 **Watching Mr Masen**

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I'm a bad girl, but nobody knows it but me. I go to class each day, but it's not so much to learn about art; it's to ogle Mr. Masen. I dutifully take notes about what he's saying, and I watch as his lips curl around each word he says. I sometimes don't even know what I've written pages about. It's all a blur. Every time his large hands rake his untidy hair off his forehead, I hungrily follow the movement with my eyes. I'm obsessed. His cheeks are often covered in stubble, but that's how I like him. I imagine that face buried between my legs, and it makes my thighs clench.

I've seen him watching me, even though he isn't supposed to. His gaze makes something tighten in the pit of my stomach, and I can't breathe. His eyes dark green burn me, control me.

With that gaze fixed upon me, I'd do anything he asked of me.

I'd lie for him.

I'd kill for him.

His art is an expression of him, I'm sure. It's bold and passionate. I find it erotic, and I often wonder if anyone else sees what I do.

In fact, I'm sure others don't. Otherwise, they wouldn't let him teach at our school.

He's only shown us two of his own pieces, and I know, without a doubt, he wanted to know what I thought of each one. His gaze raked my face again and again as I became enthralled by the message he'd put onto that canvas. I saw a meaning others clearly didn't.

It was passionate, hungry, insane, and beautiful. There was truth but no logic, light filled with shadows.

Everything was Illogical, but it made perfect sense.

I could see the question in his eyes.

It was a moment of exquisite torture for me. I found myself completely aroused by his painting, and I was desperate to hide that fact from my classmates.

I often catch Mr. Masen watching me. Sometimes, I'm not so sure if I 'catch' him watching me or if he wants me to know he is.

It's a game of sorts; I watch him, and he watches me. Of course, I'm completely off limits to him. I'm seventeen, and he's at least ten years older, maybe more.

He's also my teacher.

And he's married.

I've only seen his wife from a distance. She's tall, blonde, and beautiful, but that's all I've been able to make out.

The fact he's married doesn't deter me, though.

I like his eyes on me. They burn me and promise things they really shouldn't. They seduce me.

But I don't lack for attention. I'm the kind of girl that knowingly draws attention to herself. I've had the ability to attract attention from a very young age.

I've been always been the popular girl, even in New York City, where everything's bigger. I'm queen bee of every class.

Ever since I moved to the tiny town of Forks, Washington, I've been bombarded by would-be boyfriends and girls who want to be my friend.

I act like I don't care, but I do.

I want someone to look past the cute girl wearing trendy clothes and just see me.

The real me craves fulfillment. I need, ache, dream… I wish I were older than my seventeen years so I wouldn't have to pretend. I hate pretending.

I always pretend to be what I'm not.

Sweet I'm not.

Innocent? Regrettably.

Smile, they say, so I do.

They say I was precocious from a very young age. I vividly recall the first time I heard my mother say that word in connection with me. I was nine years old, and I'd been caught playing doctor with the neighbor's son, Jake. I didn't know what it meant back then; I only knew it was something bad, something I shouldn't be. Mother had been visiting me, and I'd been thoroughly chastised by her even as my Nanna had shrugged and had said, "She's a child. It's harmless play."

But my mother had been right about one thing.

I adore male attention. Those hungry, adoring glances make me happy.

I like drawing attention to myself, and I don't have to try very hard to get it.

I have a very particular style; it's unique.

My hair's very long, with the ends reaching my hips. I carefully style it into loose, flowing curls. It's contrived yet innocent. I wear very little makeup, mascara and kohl emphasizing my wide, almond-shaped hazel eyes that are blessed with ultra-thick lashes. I never wear lipstick, only vanilla-scented lip gloss. It's my trademark, my signature scent. My mom is Chinese, and my dad's a red-blooded and proud American. My heritage isn't obvious, but it's a mysterious part of me people question when they look at me.

I think the term for my look is 'exotic.'

I like that I'm different. When I was younger, my grandmother always used to tell me tales of the sirens who lured the sailors to their deaths with their beauty. I loved those stories as a child.

It fascinated me that anyone could have such power.

I wanted that power for myself.

I always dress well, which my eclectic mother, Renee, is responsible for. She was a wild child, and she'll probably never grow up. I see her from time to time, but she wisely left me with her mother, Alice Marie, when I was five and needed a stable environment to grow up in. Before that, my life had been a blur of hotel rooms and exotic destinations, which were as exciting as they were chaotic. My mom was a freelance photo journalist, and she could never stay in one place long enough to give me a solid, normal life. I loved her but treated her more like a friend than a mother. I'd always been the one who picked up the pieces, not the other way around. If I needed advice, I usually went to Nanna.

Twelve years later, I moved with my grandparents to Forks, Washington when my grandfather was offered a position with the local police department as a ranger. He wasn't as old as many grandfathers I'd seen, and he still worked. Nanna Marie was my home, my solace, and my guidance. I was happy wherever she was, so Forks became home to me.

A hundred years before, Nanna Marie would've been burned as a witch. The mystery surrounding her only makes me love her more. Nanna's never wrong about anything. She just 'knows' things, and I trust her with everything. She's unique, wise, and all mine.

"Isabella, don't forget your coat. It'll be cold out," Nanna calls out as I head to the door, ready for another day at Forks High. It's sunny out, the pale fingers of Forks' sunlight filtering down onto the surrounding forest, but I nod and mumble a response she understands even past the toast lodged between my lips. I retrace my steps and put on my long, black trench coat and a royal blue cashmere scarf, expertly winding it around my neck before blowing Nanna a kiss and leaving, still munching on my dry toast.

School's only attraction is Mr. Masen. Although I have to survive four periods before art class, it's well worth the wait.

I drive myself to school in the small Volvo my grandparents bought for me on my sixteenth birthday. It's fast, and I love it. It's speedy enough to please me and safe enough to please them.

The sky's already covered in thick clouds by the time I'm on the main road, and a light-but-steady drizzle begins to fall as I reach the outskirts of town. The roads become slick as the light rain washes over it, eventually becoming a steady downpour.

You can always trust Nanna.

The earlier sunlight had been a fluke. This is the usual weather for this part of the country, and I'm becoming used to it. I sing along with my favorite Kings of Leon songs as I drive the short distance to school.

"Sex on Fire" brings to mind all the images I have stored away of Mr. Masen for when I'm free to dream impossible dreams.

I park and walk through the rain at a steady pace, unlike everyone else who appears to be worried about getting wet. What's the point of rushing?

I lift my scarf over my hair and slowly walk toward my first class.

As I enter the building, I take my hair out from under my scarf and shrug out of my coat, slinging it over my arm. Jessica Stanley and Lauren Daniels walk toward me, and each takes one of my arms, as if we're the best of friends. I see Jessica's gleam of jealousy as she eyes my skintight Levis and navy lace top. I'm dressed as I've always dressed, and it's undoubtedly different from everyone else in this small town. I don't see the point in changing who I am.

My boots reach above my knees and are flat, black, and conservative. The only racy part of my outfit is my black pushup bra that can be seen through my top when you look hard enough.

In New York, this would be dressing down, but it's considered forward in Forks; I've already been given several warnings about my clothing.

"Bella, are you coming Saturday?" Jessica asks.

I smile at her and nod. "Of course. Um, what's the occasion again?"

"It's Tyler's eighteenth birthday, silly. I thought you knew that. He personally invited you last week," Lauren says in her annoying baby voice that makes me want to punch her. I smile sweetly at her instead.

Nanna says violence is a waste of time.

"I don't remember," I reply, bored. "But I'll be there. See you guys later. I have to get to class."

They air-kiss my cheeks, and I grimace as they walk away while giggling. I never invited their particular brand of friendship. They simply adopted me when I arrived.

I don't giggle, and I certainly don't act like they do. They're airheaded and unoriginal, two traits I dislike the most.

I apply a layer of vanilla gloss to my lips as I walk, tucking the tube into my pocket before entering my first class.

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It's time. I have to stop myself from running to my next class four buildings away. I replace my books in my locker and slowly head toward my next class. It wouldn't do to appear too eager, though I suspect Mr. Masen already knows just how eager I am for his class.

I enter the classroom and make my way to my desk, not once looking in his direction. I know he's sitting at his desk like always. My entire body tells me he is, so I don't need to look.

I savored that first glance, when the force of his stare hit me squarely in the chest and I felt that addictive rush of adrenaline surge through my body. Even though I'm inexperienced in these matters, there's no mistaking the throb of lust that thrummed through my most intimate places and curled through my stomach. This man is my kryptonite, my heroin.

And I need another hit.

Now.

His knowing smirk as our eyes meet for the first time today causes me to gasp softly.

His gaze quickly rakes over my face and body, almost possessively, and then the moment passes. Now I'm wondering if I imagined it all.

Was it all in my head?

Was the electricity between us just my longing for the unobtainable?

I'm not sure sometimes.

He's dressed smartly, just as he always is, in a dark blue button-down shirt and a suit that's almost too dark for daytime. He's not wearing a tie, but he never does. I think it's the deviant in him that refuses to wear that constraint.

My senses tell me he's bad news masquerading as an upstanding, law-abiding man.

I wish he'd show me just how bad he can be.

I crave him.

I want him.

I don't care if he's married.

I arrange my books across my desk and take out my pen. I then raise my eyes to his and find his gaze already on me.

"Bella?" His smooth voice calls my full name with decadent articulation.

"Yes?" I reply, blushing at how husky my voice sounds.

"Your project's been graded." He raises a questioning brow in my direction, and I realize he's asking me to get out of my seat and fetch it from him. All eyes are on me as I stand up and walk toward him.

"You did really well. I'm impressed," he says as he holds out my painting to me.

His praise makes me blush, and I meet his eyes shyly. "Thank you, sir," I say.

Mr. Masen doesn't give praise often, and I feel like I've just received the highest honor.

I feel his gaze on me as our hands momentarily touch when I take my painting from its folder. A tingling current runs from his warm fingers into mine, and I'm breathless at the startling sensation.

Did he feel that?

Butterflies dance in my stomach, and I feel my pulse go wild from one tiny touch.

What would happen if he actually touched or kissed me?

Would I combust?

I stare at him, watching in amazement as he ignores me and calls the next name. "Mike?"

I feel my whole being come alive like never before. I ache in places I've never ached before, and I recycle romance-novel nonsense in my head, replacing Mr. Masen and myself with the usual characters.

I'm a virgin, despite what my mother thinks. Most of the things I dream about are from books, not actual experience.

I'm a nymphomaniac virgin and a freak to be so obsessed with a man I know I can't have.

The other students receive their projects, but nobody gets the praise I did. I glow with this knowledge, even though Mr. Masen doesn't look at me again for the rest of class.

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"Bella? I need you to help me on a project I'm developing for the class. Would you be free sometime this week?" I freeze in excited shock as the man I want more than anything asks me to spend more time with him.

Mr. Masen arches his brow at me when I hesitate to reply.

"Are you free?" he asks again.

I nod quickly. "Yes, I'm free. When would be best for you?" I say, my voice still husky. It's annoying how much this man affects me.

He barely glances at me as he rifles through the multitude of paper on his desk. "How's tomorrow afternoon sound? We can meet here."

I swallow and nod as I gather my books when the bell rings. All the other students rush to leave, while I take my time to pack my things. "That's fine. What time should I meet you?" I say as I stop directly in front of his desk. I hold my project to my chest in a defensive gesture. My nipples are hard, and I don't want him to see.

My body does its own thing around him, and I often find myself painfully aroused in his company.

He finally raises his eyes to mine, and a small, almost unnoticed smirk lifts a corner of his mouth. "How about during lunch period?"

Butterflies surge in a cloud of flutters through my stomach, and I clench my thighs together before I can stop myself. His eyes do indecent things to me.

I smile at him, not quite meeting his eyes. "Perfect," I say softly. "See you then, Mr. Masen."

I turn to leave, because there's no way I can prolong my stay without appearing desperate.

I hate leaving his company, but at least I'll see him tomorrow.

"Bella?" His voice is amused.

"Yes?"

"You forgot your pencils in class the other day." I stare at him bemused as he holds out a palate of my pastels.

When I take them, I deliberately dragged my hand against his.

The same shock is there, but it's more pronounced this time. I stare at our hands, both of us holding the pastels and neither releasing them.

"See you tomorrow, Bella," he says as he withdraws his hand and begins to text on his phone.

I've been dismissed.

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Life passes in a blur as my whole being focuses on seeing Mr. Masen the next day. Nanna placed an odd feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach before I left for school. She gave me one of her cryptic comments, and it's stuck with me ever since, oddly mixing with the excitement and arousal already there.

Nanna watched me closely while I made my usual coffee and toast for breakfast, her face solemn as she followed each of my movements closely.

"Be aware that the price you pay for your dreams will be dear, Isabella." Her warning came out of the blue, but because I was used to her ways, I didn't ask what she meant.

Did she mean I might get Mr. Masen? I feel giddy at the thought.

"Nanna?" She shakes her head, and a small smile plays upon her lips.

"I can't answer your questions, child. Just know I see things. I don't know how or why; I just do. It's been like that ever since I was a child. I have the sight. People's paths are shown to me, and I see outcomes. Sometimes, they're not very nice ones. I don't look for answers; they find me."

I'm silent as I watch her wrinkled face. She's still beautiful, with her head full of dark hair, untouched by even a single gray hair. It's thick and lovely, a family secret that's been passed down for many generations between mother and daughter. Unfortunately, my mother was never interested, but it's been passed on to me.

I know she's right. The price to have Mr. Masen may be very high indeed, but I'm willing to pay it, whatever it may be.

I smile and sit down beside her. "Tell me a story, Nanna," I beg, just like I did as a child.

Nanna returns my smile as she lovingly strokes my hair off my face. "The first time the sight came to me was when I was five. I remember the day well. My mother, Esme, found me staring out the window. I gave her a hug and told her that her friend would visit soon. Her friend was a lady by the name of Anne Henderson whom she hadn't seen in ten years. She laughed and told me it wasn't possible. 'Alice, you mustn't make up stories!' she had chided me. Within two days, Anne visited my mother. I smiled widely when I met my mother's shocked gaze."

I grin at her. "You always know things, Nanna."

"I know that what you want will come at a very dear price, my love. Think before you act." She presses a kiss to my cheek. "It's school time! Off you go. Don't worry about a coat. It'll be warm today."

Even though it's seldom warm in Forks, I don't protest or question her. I pick up my bag and an apple. "Love you. See you later."

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The morning passes quickly, and before I know it, it's lunchtime.

I go to the bathroom and check my clothes and makeup. What I see pleases me. I'm wearing a short skirt, thigh-high boots, and a long-sleeved button-down shirt. My hair's loose, and my makeup's light. It's not slutty, just eye-catching. I apply vanilla gloss to my lips as I slowly walk to art class. My heart's pounding, and blood's surging through my veins, but I'm outwardly calm.

I get to the classroom, and all is quiet. Mr. Masen sits at his desk with his head slightly bowed as he studies a piece of paper. I enter and slowly walk toward him, my heels tapping a rhythm against the tiled floor.

"Bella," he says, his voice caressing each syllable of my name.

He says my name with such reverence that his tone makes it sound like something wonderful, like a prayer or a poem.

"Sir," I say softly, ducking my head ever so slightly, eyes on him and an impish smile spreading across my face.

I feel elated, exhilarated, and bold just because I'm in his presence.

His eyes darken as they look at me, and a lazy smirk appears. "The project's at my studio. Will you come with me so I can show it to you?"

He's asking me to go somewhere with him?

I find myself nodding, and my stomach flutters with awareness. "Yes, I'd like that."

Mr. Masen moves slowly as he reaches for his keys on the desk. "Let's go then."

We avoid the busy halls and make our way outside through a side door which serves as the teachers' exit. It's raining again, so I cover my hair with my scarf and watch as Mr. Masen's copper hair darkens. I wonder what he smells like all wet like that, and I feel a familiar tightening in my stomach at the thought.

His dark, sleek Jaguar is parked along the curb.

The fluttering in my stomach persists as he opens the door for me, and I slide onto the leather interior that smells exactly like him.

He gets in next to me, and suddenly, the space is too small and claustrophobic. It's filled with static that prickles along my spine in the most delicious way.

"How far is it?" I hear myself asking.

"Not too far. Just on the other side of town. Don't worry. You won't be missed. I've taken care of it. You're _ill_."

My face whips toward him, shocked. "How did you manage that?"

One side of his lips lifts slightly, as if he's amused. "I have my ways. Relax, Bella. No one will know you're with me." He hasn't fully looked at me today, and my abdomen gloriously tightens as his gaze finally shifts to me. I force myself to meet his, and I'm proud of myself when I don't drop my gaze. Sometimes I'm too shy to meet his for fear he may see too much. Or maybe I'm scared of what I'll see in _his_ eyes.

As our eyes meet across the tiny space, the effect is no less dramatic than each of the times before it. The air leaves my lungs, and my pulse goes wild. I'm enthralled, like a dear as it catches sight of the predator that's been stalking it.

Now that I'm looking directly at him, I can't look away. His eyes hold me prisoner, and I don't want to be free.

His eyes burn with a hunger so all-consuming that I'm completely breathless. "Is this what you want?" he asks me. His voice is husky and deep, and his fingers wait for my reply on the key in the ignition. The implications of his words are not lost on me. Our game just became real. Whatever's been simmering between us will be brought out into the open.

Nerves attack me, and my stomach flips.

"Yes, this is what I want," I reply without hesitation.

A dark chuckle leaves his mouth at my response. "That's what I thought, Bella."

The car purrs to life, and we leave the school behind. The heater rapidly warms the air until I'm comfortable but far from relaxed. I briefly wonder how he knew I was cold.

The radio is softly playing rock music, and I strain to hear the song. Mr. Masen immediately turns it up slightly. He's so attuned to my needs that it shocks me.

The song's a rock ballad from a year long before I was born. I like vintage rock, however, and I start to sing beneath my breath.

"I didn't think you could get any more intriguing, but I was mistaken," he says softly.

I glance at him, fascinated by his wording. I intrigue him? If only he knew how intriguing I find him.

"Because I like vintage rock?"

"Vintage? I remember when this song came out. I was in my teens. Does that shock you, Bella?"

I smile at him, my eyes greedily sliding across his handsome profile. "No. I don't care how old you are," I say softly but firmly. My comment reveals so much, and I eagerly wait for his reply.

I notice we're on the highway now, the jaguar silently speeding along. With anyone else, I'd be terrified at how fast we're going, but Mr. Masen's in control, and I trust him.

I watch as he drives, the sleeves of his dark dress shirt pulling up slightly to reveal golden hair and a wristwatch. His hands are large, his fingers long and beautifully shaped; he has the hands of an artist. They rest on the gear stick three inches away from my legs.

I imagine his hands on me and feel a wonderful tightening between my legs.

I want his hands on me so badly that I ache.

"You don't care? I'm the one who should care about our ages, but I somehow can't bring myself to feel the right amount of shame. You're so young, Bella. Compared to me, you're a child."

"I'm not a child," I reply, my chin raised in defiance.

"I'm almost twenty years older than you."

That means he's 37! I'm shocked but refuse to show it.

"I don't care," I stubbornly repeat.

With that knowledge lingering in the air, we drive a little longer.

"We're here," he says suddenly, pulling the car to a stop.

He turns off the ignition and pauses for a moment, his gaze washing over my face with thoroughness. "So fucking beautiful." He raises his hand to stroke my cheek for the first time. My stomach flips in nervous excitement at the unexpected profanity and compliment.

When his index finger finally touches my skin, I jump and then shake at the sweet sensation filling my insides. His finger strokes my cheek until it reaches the edge of my lips. It stops, hovers, and then disappears. I release a shuddering sigh as he withdraws his hand.

"Let's go in," he says, and it sounds like a challenge.

I nod, and before I can open my door, he's there to do it for me.

The house we're at is massive and not what I expected at all. I'd cast him as a starving painter, even though all the clues pointed to him being wealthy instead of poor.

The house is very modern, a designer's dream. It's laid out among the forest like it's a part of it rather than separated from it.

I follow him as he climbs the steps up to the front door and unlocks it, disabling a security system before flooding the building with light. Even though it's only afternoon, the dim Forks sunlight isn't enough.

"You live here with your wife?" I ask as I walk into the living room.

I feel his presence behind me, white hot and close. "Yes, Rose and I live alone here, though she's away on business at the moment."

I cock my head to one side and wait for an explanation, but he doesn't give one.

"You don't need to work, do you, Mr. Masen?" I ask, turning to face him.

"No, I don't. I teach because I love art. I like teaching others what I know."

The double meaning in his words catches me off guard, and I feel my face heat up with embarrassment.

"By the way, my name is Edward," he says, studying my pink cheeks with amusement.

I didn't know his first name until now, but it suits him somehow.

"Okay, sir," I say playfully as I turn away from him and walk around the room.

"Come and see my project, Bella. I want your opinion on this piece I've been working on."

"So there _is_ a project?" I ask cheekily.

Edward laughs at my audacity and turns to leave the room. "Yes, there is, but it's all mine and definitely not for the classroom."

With my heart pounding, I follow him down a well-lit corridor. An open door leads us into a room made up completely of glass while its walls are made up of entirely of windows. It's an artist's room.

Many canvases lie around; some are blank while others are turned away or covered. One large canvas stands on an easel in the center of the room, and it's covered with a black cloth.

Without warning, Edward pulls off the cover to reveal the most beautiful picture I've ever seen.

He watches my reaction closely.

It looks like me, though not as I've ever seen myself before.

The painting's classic, with heavy realistic brush strokes, vivid colors, and perfect imagery. There isn't one hint of abstract in this work of art. It's life-like and stunning.

Open-mouthed and overcome by shock, I stare.

"What do you think, Bella?" Edward asks. "It's my greatest work yet."

"It's beautiful. Exquisite. Is it..."

"You? Yes. This is how I see you."

My eyes are glued to the canvas, unable to look away. It's enthralling to see how this man sees me. For so long, I've wanted to know if he wants me too.

Now I know the truth.

It's there in bold brush strokes and exquisite color.

I'm draped in a silky, dark green fabric that clings to my naked form like a lover's caress. My hair's loose and flows down my back in wild abandon. My face is relaxed, and my eyes are luminous. I look happy, sated.

I drag a shuddering breath into my starved lungs as I lift my eyes to his once more, but natural shyness makes me want to drop them.

"Don't be ashamed, Bella. This was inevitable. I want you to sit for me."

"Sit? As in model for you?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly. I wonder if he noticed.

"Yes. As good as it is, it doesn't satisfy me, and I want to start again with you as the model."

"What does your wife think of you painting one of your students?" I ask softly, breathless and excited like I've never been before in my life.

"Rose isn't interested in what I paint. She doesn't care for art in any form." His tone is dry and sarcastic. "She's a realist and has little time for artistic expression or fantasy."

I nod, my eyes still clinging to the portrait. It's vivid beauty transfixes me with its splendor.

I comment before I can stop myself. "It must be boring to be her. How can she not love what you do? You're a master, Edward."

Silence. I venture a glance at him, and his face is immobile and intense as he studies me.

"What?" I ask nervously as he remains silent.

Edward slowly smiles at me, and it's mesmerizing. His lips twist into a lopsided smirk.

"You're amazing, Bella. Even though I shouldn't, there are hidden depths in you I long to discover. I think you're capable of many things."

My stomach flutters and then trembles as Edward's voice slides over my senses like dark, melted caramel.

"I don't know what you mean," I say, my voice shaking. Gravity pulls me toward him, and it's a pull that makes me sway on my feet.

"Yes, you do, Bella. You know exactly what I mean," he whispers close to my ear, his delicious breath washing across my face and his nose teasing my hair.

"What about your wife, Edward?" I ask softly, trying not to turn my head to look at him. If I do, I know our lips will meet.

I literally shake as I wait for his reply.

"Look at me," Edward commands.

I shake my head. "I can't."

"Look at me, Bella."

Harsh fingers are suddenly on my jaw, and I'm forced to look at him. A sharp stab of arousal streaks through me.

"If you choose to disobey me, Bella, there will be consequences."

"Edward..." I whimper his name. My voice is pleading, but I'm not sure for what.

His thumb starts a mesmerizing trail of fire across my chin before it slides onto my lower lip.

"Your eyes tell me everything I need to know. Fuck, you're shaking so hard, Bella. Do you want me to touch you?"

I find myself nodding as my eyes cling to his, unable to look away. He's so gorgeous, and I just want to touch him.

"Your lips are sinful. They tempt me. I want to taste them so much." His thumb pulls on my lips while he speaks, parting them before he inserts it into my mouth.

I automatically lick his finger and watch as Edward's eyes darken and become dangerous.

I feel my nipples harden, and my hands clench at my sides. I so badly want to touch him, but some small bit of morality stops me. He's married; he belongs to someone else.

It's one thing to dream about this moment coming true, but it's another entirely for it to actually happen.

Edward breathes harshly as he fully slides his finger into my mouth. Without thinking about it, I suck. The pulse between my legs throbs insistently and becomes an ache.

His other hand slides into my hair, pulling me closer before his mouth covers mine. "So soft," he whispers before kissing me.

I moan at the feel of him, rough stubble and hungry lips. His tongue does wonderful things, sliding along mine and caressing, tasting. I've never been kissed like this before. My hands tangle in his hair, soft and thick, pulling him as close as he can go.

Edward lifts me into his arms, and my legs wrap around his hips while his mouth is still devouring mine.

His body's hard all over, firmly muscled, and he carried me with ease, as if I weigh nothing at all.

I'm on fire. Every inch of me burns as his hands caress me. The sensation floods me, and I'm lost to reason.

I want this.

I want Edward with all my body and heart, and I need him more than my next breath.

"You taste better than I thought you would. So fucking good, Bella." Edward's voice is harsh when our lips part for a moment.

I don't answer; I simply watch his face, and I'm mesmerized by every expression.

Edward walks us over to the corner of the room, places me on a low sofa that rests there, and begins to pull off his shirt. I sit up and help him unbutton it, shyly looking up at him as he stares at me with wonder on his face.

He kneels between my legs as he shrugs off the shirt. He's a work of art. A light dusting of hair runs down his stomach and disappears under his trousers. I trace the line with my fingers, only realizing my own boldness when my fingers encounter the ice cold buckle of his belt.

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks as Edward darkly laughs. "You're a natural, Bella. How many have there been?"

"How many what?"

"How many men have you slept with?"

I stare at him in shock. "None," I admit, my eyes cast downward.

Did he think I'm experienced? Will he not want me now?

A ragged sigh leaves his chest, and I glance at him. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that." He lifts my face to his and cradles while his fingers thread through my hair. "The thought of anyone else touching you kills me. You're so perfect… and you're all mine."

"You're married, Edward. You belong to someone else," I say.

"Rose and I have never been lovers, Bella. Our parents planned and executed our marriage for financial reasons. She's never belonged to me, not like you will."

"She's still your wife." I sigh as his magical fingers work black spells on my mind and traitorous body.

I've wanted him for so long, and trying to fight his touch is futile.

Edward's hand slides down my neck until it's encircling my throat. With gentle but firm pressure, he forces me to lie down, and my stomach deliciously flips as he exerts his control over me.

I want this man to own me, body and soul, just as I want to own him.

He hovers over me, and his mouth briefly touches mine, though he only pulls away again.

Frustrated, I slide both of my hands into his thick, soft hair and try to pull him closer, but it's no use; he's too strong and determined.

I whimper in frustration as he licks my lower lip and pulls away again. "Edward," I hiss, staring up at him with all the need and desire I feel for him written on my face. "Kiss me."

He laughs softly, darkly. "Do you want me, Bella? Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

I glare at him. "I can't..." I shake my head, and embarrassment floods me.

His hand tightens ever so slightly around my neck, and I gasp as a strange pleasure courses through me, goosebumps instantly covering my body. A surge of adrenaline follows, leaving me breathless and aroused like never before.

"Yes, you can. Do you want me to kiss you?" he asks, his tone wickedly amused.

I nod, and my lips part as I gulp in great mouthfuls of air.

"Say it, Bella!" he says sternly. The expression in his green eyes makes a surge of moisture soak my panties.

"I... want... you to kiss me," I say in a hesitant rush, my face flushing crimson.

Without a word, his lips descend onto mine hungrily. I moan as he parts my lips, and his tongue thrusts its way into me. He tastes so good; masculine and spicy. His stubble grazes my face, and my whole being responds at the pleasurable pain.

My pussy throbs insistently, and my thighs part beneath Edward's weight. As soon as his cock is cradled between my legs, he thrusts up against me at the same time his tongue plunges into my mouth. I see bright bursts of color behind my closed eyelids, and my fingers tug on his hair, pulling him closer.

A wildness possesses him as his hands stroke my legs and push my skirt out of the way. He rips my shirt open, and buttons explode across the bed.

Our kisses are harsh and ravenous, tongues tangling and teeth clashing as we attack each other harder and wilder with each passing moment. My bra follows my shirt, and before I know it, I'm chest to chest with Edward. My hard nipples rub against the sprinkled hair on his chest, teasing them to a new sensitivity.

I roll my hips against his, looking for that delicious hardness I felt before.

Edward growls feral and deep, and he bites my lower lip and thrusts up into me with a strength that makes me aware of how much I'm at his mercy.

Edward lowers his head and kisses his way down my neck and onto my breasts. I cry out loudly as his mouth closes over a nipple and sucks deeply on my tender flesh.

He releases that nipple and tastes the other, making me arch into his face, offering myself for more.

I'm greedy and insatiably hungry for him. His taste is addictive, and his touch inflames me.

"Where else do you want me to touch you?" Edward asks. His face is an inch from mine, and his delicious breath fans across my face, making my mouth water.

"Everywhere."

Edward smirks lazily, his gaze raking my face and hair. "Do you think that's enough, Bella?" he questions, his voice rough and deep. "I want more. Tell me where you want me to touch you."

His slightly calloused fingers trail across my cheek and rest on my lips. "I already know how sweet you taste here." His fingers move to my neck and then my heaving chest. "And I know how delicious your nipples taste in my mouth, but what about here, Bella?" he asks, tracing a pathway of fire down my stomach and into my navel.

"Yes," I moan wantonly, forgetting everything but the deep burning ache this man brings to life inside of me.

"Ah, yes. You want me to touch you everywhere, don't you, Bella? You're a very bad girl for making me so fucking horny all the time. You have no idea..." His voice trails off as he's about to make an admission. "You drive me crazy," he says at last, kissing and licking his way down my body to my lower stomach.

The thought of the self-assured, gorgeous Mr. Masen being driven crazy by me makes my head spin.

So it hasn't just been in my mind. Mr. Masen's been just as infatuated as I've been. The thought overwhelms me.

Rough, hard hands tug my skirt off, and then Edward's long fingers hook into the sides of my skimpy lace panties, pulling them off so quickly that I gasp loudly.

Lately, I've been experimenting waxing, so I'm completely bare. Edward holds my legs open with a large hand wrapped around each thigh as he examines every inch of my naked sex. I feel my face heat up in embarrassment, but Edward ignores my squirming and holds me still.

The insistent throbbing deep inside me makes my body pulse oddly as Edward leans in and licks me there.

I gasp again at the unexpected pleasure, and his tongue slides between my lips, caressing and tasting me.

Edward's tongue works at my sensitive flesh, giving no respite as he thrusts his tongue between my folds and inside me again and again. I can't move my hips because he's still holding both of my thighs wide open. Without warning, he slides a finger into me, which is quickly followed by a second. The sensation is like nothing I've experienced before, and I feel full and stretched yet curiously empty. I want more.

"Edward... Please..." I whimper as the coil tightens in my stomach.

I sink my fingers into his hair and pull hard.

Edward lifts his head, and our breaths mingle as he hovers above me, his fingers working me, causing the coil to tighten unbearably.

I've made myself come a few times when I've played with myself, but I've never felt this extraordinary feeling before. It's so intense, and I'm scared of what will happen if I surrender myself to it.

"Just let go, Bella," Edward says, watching me closely. "Let yourself feel. Come for me, beautiful."

His curls his fingers and hits a sweet spot that makes me pant and arch off the sofa helplessly. I'm putty in his experienced hands, and without thought, I obey him and let go.

Waves of pleasure build to a crescendo and then crash over me. My toes curl, and my limbs jerk uncontrollably as I throw my head back and cry out his name.

His fingers show no mercy. While they may slow down, they don't stop their erotic dance within me. The waves subside slowly, and I kiss Edward deeply as I come down off my high. He instantly takes control of our kiss, slowing it down to a lazy exploration.

His weight lies between my legs, and I can feel his rock-hard flesh pushing against me. Edward moves back slightly and undoes his trousers, taking my hand and showing me how to curl my fingers around his length. I moan at the feel of him; satiny soft but so hard.

I've read books and know this is going to hurt, but there's nothing I want more than to feel Edward inside me.

"Please take me..." I whisper against his lips. "I want you so badly, Edward. Make me yours."

A dark , slightly lopsided smirk appears on his face, and it makes him even more gorgeous. I stare, bemused at his handsome face.

"I'll take you, Bella, and you'll be mine. Every silken inch of you will be mine, and no one else will ever have you like I will."

I nod in agreement as I stroke his erection, making him growl.

Edward leans over me and removes a small foil-wrapped package from a nearby table. Though I'm embarrassed, I'm unable to look away as he rolls on the seemingly inadequate protection.

Kicking off his trousers, he settles himself between my thighs, his hardness at my entrance. I don't hesitate to wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him close. The tip of his cock slides inside me, and I moan at the pleasurable foreign sensation.

Edward watches, and with one hard thrust, he's fully inside me, causing me to cry out as pain floods me and tears prick at my eyes.

Without a word, he begins a slow and steady roll of his hips against mine that makes my eyes roll back.

His hands lift my legs higher as he begins to fuck me.

I cling to his broad shoulders as I lose sense of time and space. I lose myself to Edward, and I drown in pure bliss.

We're restless, always moving and shifting together, moving toward completion.

We kiss slowly and deeply, and I can feel it all the way in my toes.

I breathe Edward in, and he eats me alive.

I surrender to him in every way, and he consumes every part of me.

.

.

.

It's exactly two weeks and three days later when things get out of hand. Edward and I have continued to see each other almost every day since then.

I'm even more obsessed with Edward; he owns me body and soul.

Edward's extremely possessive of me, and now that I know him, the signs are easy to read.

I love that he wants me and feels that I'm his, but somehow, even without Nanna's warnings, I know that the situation is teetering on the brink of disaster. We're playing with fire, and it's only a matter of time before we're found out.

I spend every second I can with Edward. We've had sex numerous times, and he's painted me more than once now. There's a series of paintings all depicting me in various stages of undress in his studio. They mildly embarrass me, but that's because Edward has a knack for capturing me in my raw emotional states, which are very private and sensual. He lays me bare on those canvases, and I find it hard to look at them despite the amazing memories attached to each one.

Edward becomes aroused when he paints me, and I end up smeared in paint and thoroughly fucked each time. His beauty captivates me, and I know he feels the same. I often find him watching me with a predatory expression on his handsome face, and my stomach flutters violently, reacting with the boundless enthusiasm I feel for him.

Our age difference doesn't matter to us. In fact, it arouses me. I love that Edward knows so much more than I do. I like that he's taught me everything I know. It's as if I'm his creation.

Being with him is as exciting as a new book I've never read before, one that's dangerous and unpredictable.

I love to push him just a little too far sometimes, and I'm thrilled with the results.

In front of everyone else, we're distant and properly aloof. As far as we know, no one suspects a thing. Edward's wife is hardly ever home, so we're free to partake in our extracurricular activities in relative peace.

At school, Mike Newton's gotten worse. He's still trying to get me to go to the prom with him. I've refused more times than I can count, but he won't give up. It's as if he doesn't believe I could possibly say no to him. His arrogance irritates and scares me. Edward caught the last part of our conversation yesterday, and his expression was filled with rage and jealousy. He curbed it immediately, but I saw that murderous look he leveled at Mike, and I'm suddenly fearful, though I'm not sure why.

I know I'm falling in love with Edward. My Nanna shakes her head in despair, but she doesn't say a word to encourage or discourage me. She's like that, though. She trusts me and my judgment.

Sometimes, though, I don't trust my own.

Where Edward's concerned, I'm reckless and brazen, and I can't stop myself. It's like I'm a train wreck waiting to happen.

I'm walk down the hall toward Spanish class when Mike accosts me again. His vacant face and gelled hair are abhorrent. He doesn't hold a candle to Edward. No one can.

"Bella!" he calls out, jogging toward me. "Wait up!"

I reluctantly turn around and plaster a small smile on my face. "Hi, Mike."

"What color dress are you wearing so I can color coordinate with you?" is his opening line. I feel the anger rise through my body at his blatant refusal to acknowledge my rejections.

"I'm not going to the prom, Mike. I told you that," I say, shifting away from him as he steps into my personal space.

"But I know you don't mean it, Bella. It's just a game you play. We're perfect together, and you know it, baby," he says, an amused, self-confident smirk plastered across his too-round, too-pretty boy face.

I hate him.

Maybe I should try one of Nanna's hexes to get rid of him. I never scoffed at her magic the way my mom did. There's something about her honest, old-fashioned remedies for situations such as these that appeals to me on some deep, primal level.

"I'm not just saying this, and I'm not playing any game. I'm not going to prom."

I start to walk away, but Mike reaches out and firmly grabs my arm. Fear coils in the pit of my stomach as I jerk around to face him again. "You're the hottest girl in school, Bella, and you're going to prom with me. I mean, you're not seeing anyone else, so why not me?"

I struggle to pull my arm away. "I'm taken, Mike. I have a boyfriend back home."

His expression changes at my words. "So you've just been leading me on like a dirty slut all this time?"

Shock and fear at his vulgar words surge through me. Mike looks pissed, and I realize we're alone in the most secluded part of the school. There's no one around to call out to for help.

"I never led you on, Mike. I've said no since the very first day. Please leave me alone."

Mike studies me closely, and his hand tightens around my upper arm like a vice. "Maybe I want some of what you're freely giving away."

I stared at him wide-eyed. "What are you talking about?"

"This." His other hand reaches out, and his fingers trace the bite mark partially hidden by my sweater. I jump at the contact and flinch.

"That's none of your business!" I hiss, pulling on my secured arm more violently.

"Oh, but I'm making it my business, sweet pea. I think it's only right that you share."

As he starts to pull me toward him, his intent clear on his face, an angry snarl erupts from behind us. Mike stops and turns to face the interruption, still holding me tightly.

It's Edward, eyes fierce and jaw clenched. "What's going on here?" he demands, his tone that of a teacher. I know better, though. His murderous eyes are glued to Mike's hand, which is still wrapped around my arm.

"None of your business, sir," Mike sneers, barely polite.

"I think it's very much my business when you're molesting one of my students. Get your hand off of her," Edward growls, stepping closer, towering over Mike.

"It's none of your business. She's my girlfriend, and we're having a fight. That's all. Leave us alone."

Without another word, Edward removes Mike's hand from me and twists his arm behind his back in a swift, bad ass move that makes my head spin. Edward clearly has had training of some sort that I'm unaware of.

"Ow! Fuck! You're hurting me! Let me go!" Mike yells in pain as Edward twists his arm tighter.

A cold, emotionless look creeps into Edward's eyes as he leans in and whispers into Mike's ear. "Don't ever fucking touch her again. Got it?"

Mike nods vigorously, speechless from the pain.

Edward isn't satisfied, however, and lifts his arm higher. "Have. You. Got. It?" he asks, his tone rough and unconcerned of the pain he's inflicting on one of his students.

I watched as Mike forces himself to reply. "Yes, I've got it. Fuck! Let my arm go. I think it's broken!"

Edward chuckles darkly. "It's not broken, kid, but you won't be so lucky next time. Stay the fuck away from Bella. Don't forget, or I'll be forced to refresh your memory."

With that, Edward releases Mike and pushes him away hard.

Mike scowls at him and backs away while rubbing his arm. "I'm going to report you, Masen. You're not going to get away with this."

Edward arches a brow at him. "Please do. I'm sure the faculty would love to hear about how you assaulted Bella."

"But I didn't! We were just talking."

"Yes, you were. I saw it all, and I stepped in to avoid it escalating into rape. Who do you think they'll believe?"

Mike stares at Edward with pure hatred written across his features. "Fuck you, Masen."

Edward doesn't reply.

"So, what? You're fucking your teacher, Bella? Is that what it's about?" Mike sneers at me.

I turn my head and don't reply.

Mike laughs, an ugly sound filled with anger. "You won't get away with this."

He turns and leaves then, still rubbing his arm.

Even though my whole being cries out for him, Edward doesn't touch me at all. I know someone may be watching, so I stay where I am instead of wrapping my arms around his body and laying my head on his chest.

"Are you okay, Bella?" he asks, his fists clenching at his sides with the effort it takes to not touch me.

I nod, tears welling in my eyes, annoying me. I hate to cry because it makes me feel like I'm weak, but Mike genuinely scared me.

"I'm fine., Edward. But Mike… He's getting worse. He just won't take no for an answer."

"This has happened before? Why didn't you tell me?"

Full of guilt, I look up at him. "I didn't think it was anything serious. I kept telling him no, and he kept coming back and insisting I go to prom with him. I can't tell him I'm taken. I wish I could..."

Edward steps closer to me, his warm breath teasing the tiny hairs along my forehead. I feel that tightening in the pit of my stomach as my heart does a lovely flip in my chest.

"You're mine, Bella. Maybe one day soon, we'll be able to tell everyone..."

Astonished, I stare at him. "Edward, you're married."

"Maybe that will change," he replies, his eyes intense.

My heart pounds with excitement and fear as endless possibilities go through my head. His words are so simple yet dangerously loaded.

He told me divorce isn't a possibility for him, as Rosalie's parents had insisted on a prenuptial agreement that stated Edward would be left penniless if he ever left her.

"I'll protect you, Bella. Tell me if that kid bothers you again." It's not a request.

I nod.

We go our separate ways after that, and I'm aware Mike is watching me wherever I go as I attend all of my classes. My spine crawls with fear as he grins at me quite openly when I catch him.

He doesn't look scared, just determined.

.

.

.

A few more months pass, and the flame between me and Edward has only grown.

I love him with every fiber of my being, and although he's yet to say those words, I know he's utterly addicted to me, my body, and my presence in his life.

Every spare moment is spent together, and we drink each other in. Sex is a massive part of our relationship, but lately, we've begun to dream about things that can't happen.

On my eighteenth birthday, Edward gave me an unusual bracelet. It's gold and wraps around my arm several times. It looks to be of Aztec origin, but it could just be fake. I don't care if it is, though. I love it and wear it constantly.

Mike still watches me, and that shiver of fear will always accompany his stare. It's as if my sixth sense is warning me to be careful, so I am. I avoid him at all cost.

Things between Edward and Rosalie aren't good, and I can't say I'm unhappy about this.

.

.

.

It's a Tuesday night, and I'm riding Edward's cock in the back seat of his Jaguar. He unexpectedly asked me to meet him an hour ago, and I agreed. I never say no to him. There's no reason to; we both want the same thing.

I felt his body harden inside me, and I rock against him as the spiral inside me shatters, sending me free falling into outer space.

Edward fiercely grips me to him as he comes and his teeth mark my neck, reaffirming our bond.

I hold him tighter as the pain from the bite mingles with the unadulterated bliss rippling through my body.

"Mine," Edward growls against my skin, and I glow with the knowledge I belong to him on a level no one else ever could.

"Yes. Yours," I whimper as I move with him, still restless and seeking. "All yours."

After our bodies and hearts have calmed, we lie together on the seat. Edward's body is bent to accommodate the tiny space, and mine is lying along his effortlessly.

His fingers dance along my spine as I listen to the sound of air filling and leaving his lungs.

"Bella?" he says softly.

I raise my head to look at him. "Yes?"

He stares at me intently for a few moments, as if he's memorizing my face. "We have to get rid of Rosalie."

"Get rid of her?" I freeze, though a part of me has always known this day would come.

Edward nods. "We have to kill her."

My heart races as repulsion mixes with elation.

I don't reply at first, but I know in my heart that there's nothing I won't do for Edward Masen.

He owns me.

He controls me.

And I live to please him.

* * *

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